I Fought The War
by seedyapartment
Summary: A Slytherin A to Z.
1. A is for Abulia

**A is for Abulia**  
_loss or impairment of the ability to make decisions or act independently_

being the first part of _I Fought the War_: A Slytherin 'A to Z'.

warnings: rated r, slash, swearing.

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Theodore Nott does not remember meeting Blaise Zabini. In fact, if he hadn't been smart enough at age five to know that it was not the case, he would have assumed that Blaise and he had always been in each other's lives.

-----------

By the time Theodore and Blaise were four and had fully mastered the English language, Blaise's mother had begun to teach them French. At five, they had fully mastered most nouns. By six, they were good with adjectives and verbs.

-----------

When Blaise was seven, he accidentally learned how to time travel, and it was Theodore that covered for him at tea when his mother inquired after his whereabouts. Theodore had every faith that if Blaise had been able to put together the right equations to get to the 1600s, he'd be able to get back. Blaise did not disappoint, and was back for supper.

"Don't do that again." Theodore told him sternly (you shouldn't be surprised that he was very well-spoken for a boy of seven; he was a Nott), and Blaise smirked.

"Miss me?" he asked, walking over to the tree he'd been carving equations and symbols into when he'd vanished and studying them.

Theodore stared. "No. I was just terribly bored."

-----------

When they were nine, Draco Malfoy said some rather unflattering things about Blaise's mother, and found himself at the wrong end of Theodore's wand.

Draco couldn't walk properly for weeks, and Blaise came to visit Theodore every day when he was instructed to stay in his room. He didn't pout.

Blaise never said thank-you, and Theodore didn't expect him to.

They both won an equal number of games of exploding snap, much to the chagrin of Theodore's father, Alexander Nott, who was busy in his study.

-----------

Theodore raised an eyebrow and glanced around the Slytherin table on the first day of Hogwarts, with his mother's words ringing through his head.

_Theo, darling. You'll make so many new friends at school..._

After thoroughly eyeing the other tables, where kids his age were busy shaking hands, exchanging names and making friends, Theodore took his seat next to Blaise, and turned to ask Queenie Greengrass if her dad had returned from South Africa yet.

Draco Malfoy sat whispering to Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, Millicent Bullstrode was insulting Pansy Parkinson's hair and Blaise was busy trying to convince Gillian McSweeny (from fourth year) that the Manchester Mingles would win the Quidditch cup that year.

As Theodore glanced at all the food in front of him, he wondered what the big deal was. Thus far, school looked exactly like tea at the Parkinson's on a Sunday afternoon.

-----------

"That's _Harry Potter._" Theodore heard Draco exclaim, in the hallway of their first night. Both he and Blaise turned their heads quickly, anxious to get a glimpse.

He was small, skinny and he didn't stand up straight. His hair was plastered to his head on one side, and he was guffawing loudly with the other Gryffindors.

"That's too bad," Blaise intoned, turning back to Theodore. They continued their conversation on cross-universe travel using binomials, thoroughly unimpressed.

But not before Theodore caught the determined, decidedly Slytherin, look in Draco's eyes after the savior of the Wizarding World refused to shake his hand.

----------

"Really, Blaise? Boys?" Theodore raised an eyebrow, and lay back in his chair. They were in their fourth year, and Blaise had just announced that he thought Cedric Diggory was quite fit.

"Dear Theodore," Blaise smirked, "do not knock it until you've tried it." Theodore pondered, and Blaise grabbed a quill and a long piece of parchment.

"Is it the fact that he's male," Blaise asked, walking to the door, "or Hufflepuff, that gets your panties in a twist?" Theodore returned Blaise's smirk, looking up from his Potions text.

"I can't decide," he teased, and Blaise laughed before leaving.

Later that night, Theodore found him in their dorm room, sitting on his bed, surrounded by pages and pages of what Theo would have named gibberish if he hadn't known Blaise as well as he did.

"Blaise," Theodore cautiously stepped into the room, not wanting to startle him or break any brilliant trains of thought. When Blaise looked up sharply and noticed that it was Theodore, his features softened, and he loosened his hold on the quill.

"What time is it?" he demanded, motioning that Theodore was free to come in. Theodore told him, and sat on the bed.

"Essayez-vous de résoudre les problèmes du monde?" he asked gently, picking up the nearest piece of parchment and studying it.

"Something like that."

When Theodore leaned over and kissed him, it wasn't awkward or confusing. It was just natural, an instinct. Blaise gripped his forearms, and pressed him back into the foot of the bed.

Blaise eventually pulled away, leaving Theodore's lips puffy and swollen.

Theodore took a deep breath. "So. Cedric Diggory, then?"

----------

While Blaise busied himself with Cedric (and Draco, and Ernie, and Esmerelda, and _Theodore_, for that matter), Theodore spotted Neville Longbottom.

Neville wasn't attractive in the conventional way, and it was this fact alone that first caught Theodore's eye. When he sat in Herbology and listened to Neville raise his voice at Pansy for slipping up and feeding her Mandrake the wrong kind of plankton, Theodore knew that there was more to Neville Longbottom than met the eye. Pansy gaped at him in astonishment before scrambling off to correct her mistake. Neville looked suddenly humble, hanged his head slightly and walked over to resume his position at Harry Potter's right side.

The fact that he was a Gryffindor wasn't an immediate problem for Theodore. The fact that dating a Gryffindor would bring him several notches down some sort of Slytherin social ladder might be. The fact that his parents would crucio him if they ever found out definitely was.

Theodore had always loved a challenge.

----------

"Why do you like me?" Neville asked one day, while they were lazily snogging by the lake. Out of the way of prying eyes, it was the perfect rendezvous. Theodore had quickly gotten over his aversion to dirt; being with Neville, who had dirt under his fingernails and dust on the front of his jeans, had made it necessary.

Theodore pulled away and observed Neville, with his bottom lip caught between his teeth (Theodore wondered how long he was going to have to converse with him before those teeth were _his_ again), and his hair mussed beautifully.

"Don't doubt yourself." Theodore said, annoyed. "It's unattractive."

Neville grinned, and caught Theodore by the wrist, yanking him forward into another kiss. Theodore let out a tiny hiss of pleasure when Neville's tongue snuck out to battle with his.

"Clearly," Neville mused, letting Theodore press him backwards onto the grass, "there's something about me you find attractive."

Theodore kissed him again to shut him up.

-------------

Draco's obsession with Harry Potter, much to Blaise's annoyance, was growing rapidly. Blaise had decided to stick with Draco, purely, Theodore was certain, so that he could have license to lecture Theodore on inter-house relations.

"It's all he bloody talks about..." hissed Blaise, one day during sixth year when they had arrived at Herbology before the rest of the class. Theodore had time to glance at the bare skin of Blaise's forearm, which was covered in inked black runes, before Blaise grabbed the sleeve of his shirt and pulled it back over.

"Working again?" Theodore asked, curiously, and they both knew he wasn't referring to Potions revisions. Blaise nodded distractedly.

"You're not really upset about this?" Theodore was incredulous, and Blaise glanced up, scowling.

"Of course I'm not... Draco can have whichever distractions and obsessions he chooses." Blaise gave Theo the look that he knew meant that if he dared not believe him, he'd be sorry.

Theodore smiled, "Jealousy does not become you."

Blaise's dress shirt rode up on his hip as he trapped Theodore up against a wooden supplies shelf and snogged him.

"I'm not jealous," he insisted, and his teeth pulled at Theodore's bottom lip as he locked his eyes to his best friend's. Theodore believed him. It's not jealousy if Blaise says it's not; Blaise does not lie to Theodore.

He whispered, _"Good,"_ and let his head fall back against the Panthium seed as Blaise mouthed at his neck affectionately.

"Ahem..."

Both boys heard the throat being cleared and Blaise jerked upright, nearly sending Theodore tumbling to the ground at the lost pressure.

Neville stood there, carrying textbooks and empty pots, and he didn't look hurt; he looked incredulous.

"Um, I'll just..." he took a few steps back, but Theodore had gained his balance and his wits by that time, and hurried forward to catch Neville's hand before he could leave the greenhouse.

Blaise brushed off his pants, straightened his shirt and watched the scene as though it were some amusing muggle film.

"Neville..." Theodore started, but Neville pulled his wrist away from Theodore's grip with more strength than most people would guess that Neville possessed. "Blaise is just... we were only..." Neville shook his head, and was out the door before he could hear a thing Theodore had to say.

"Explanations?_ Really_, Theo?" Blaise deadpanned, gathering his books together for class. "How Gryffindor."

-----------

Theodore didn't like to think about the war, if you could call it that.

It was more of a huge misunderstanding, full of cowardice and casualties, than a war.

Neville insisted on fighting the 'good fight', Draco insisted on fighting some other type of fight and Blaise and Theodore effectively got left behind.

Not left behind, actually. Not at all. They _stayed_ behind, because they were sane, thank you very much.

Theodore let go of his pride (not let go, really, just set it aside for a moment) and begged Neville not to go.

"I have to," Neville insisted, his eyes red, and Theodore gripped his forearms.

"No, you don't!" He was panicking by this point. "NO YOU DON'T! That is something they fill your head with. They don't need you, you don't have to, and if you do go, you will be killed, Neville!" These sorts of things, the things Theodore was currently shouting, were things he never thought he would have to say. He would never have to say them to Blaise, because Blaise wasn't stupid. He would never have to say them to Draco, because Draco loved himself too much. Trust a Gryffindor to believe notions of false bravery.

Neville looked doubtful for a moment, but Theodore watched as his resolve hardened. "Theodore, I'm going. Harry needs me..."

"Harry needs to be crucioed, is what Harry Potter needs!" Theodore insisted, locking eyes with Neville.

"Don't look at me like that!" Neville yelled, pulling out of Theodore's embrace. "I'm not like you! I can't just look out for myself and be satisfied!"

"I do not just look out for..."

"Right, and then there's Blaise," Neville spat, and Theodore's eye darkened.

"I told you, Nev. Blaise is my best friend..."

"Right. Your best mate who you snog all the time, and think about all the time, and who you worry about..."

"Right now..." Theodore's voice was dangerous, "I am worried. About. You. Don't do this, Neville. If you need to be helping someone, help me."

Neville's eyes filled with tears, and he looked like he might cry as Theodore took him in his arms. He already knew that Neville was going. He knew weeks ago, when he took one of Blaise's ink quills and drew patterns of protection and safety on his skin while Neville slept.

"Don't..." Theodore struggled to keep his own council, "don't cry, Neville. It's unattractive." Neville didn't smile, like Theodore was hoping for. He leaned down and snogged him lightly, and when Neville pulled away, he knew that it was their last kiss for a while.

As Neville walked away, Theodore tried to keep it together, but failed and ended up shouting at his back, "Vous êtes _insensé!_ Ceci n'est pas votre guerre!"

-----------

Blaise and Theodore spent most of the war annoyed at how worried they were. They were both way past lying, which is why they admitted that the thought of never seeing Draco and Neville again made them sick.

It was Blaise and Theodore in the beginning, and it was Blaise and Theodore who stared at the Wizard Wireless in utter fascination when they found out that the Dark Lord had been destroyed.

They both held each other for support as they apparated to the battlefield to assess the damage.

-----------

It took Theodore no time to locate Neville; he was looking for Theodore, too, and at the sight of him, Theo thought that he might be knocked off his feet by the wave of relief that hit him.

"You idiot," Theodore accused, as Neville clung to him. Neville grinned, crookedly, missing several teeth.

"Yeah, I missed you, too."

-----------

After days of drowning himself in equations, Blaise was no closer to being himself again. They hadn't found Draco on the battlefield, not a trace of him, and Harry Potter wasn't speaking no matter how many times Blaise threatened to hex him into oblivion. Blaise had been ushered backwards by the brute force of the red-speckled arms of Ronald Weasley. If Blaise had been himself at the time, instead of beside himself with grief, Theodore was pretty sure Weasley would have ended up another casualty of war.

A few days, and several hundred molecular diffusions later, Draco showed up, letting himself into Theodore's flat and smirking in Blaise's direction.

"Miss me?"

Blaise looked up from the floor, from his equations. "Shut up."

They didn't even ask Theodore before they proceeded to fuck on his kitchen floor.

-----------

Graduation was nothing; it was overshadowed by the War that wasn't. And yet, there they were: done with school and out in the world, and the fact was, it was boring.

Harry Potter had started speaking again; speaking, and apparently telling everyone tall tales about Slytherin alliances, and Draco, and Blaise, and even Theodore himself. It wasn't as if Theo particularly minded that they now had a reputation all over town of being dangerous. If anything, it made people stay out of his way.

No, Harry Potter could say whatever the bloody hell he wanted to. What pissed Theodore off was that Neville had believed him. It's sort of like conditioning, Theo mused, someone pounding ideas and stereotypes into your head until you can't help it, and those ideas are in your brain as defaults.

"I've told you, Neville," Theodore insisted, not for the first time, "we weren't even anywhere near the war, Blaise and I."

When Theodore heard himself declaring that he and Blaise had been at his flat the entire time, Neville's eye narrowed, and Theo wondered if that was really a better answer.

----------

"I've never been as strong as you," was the explanation Neville gave when he packed his things one morning.

Theodore could hardly see for the sleep in his eyes; he'd rolled out of bed when Neville had yanked at a shirt that Theodore was lying on. When Theodore realized what Neville was doing, he jumped up, pulled jeans on (with two unsuccessful tries) and followed him around the living room and the kitchen.

None of his protests mattered, though, and with one final "Neville!", the door closed and Theodore was alone.

Theodore stood blinking in the morning sun that streamed through his window.

He'll be back, Theodore thought, before climbing back into bed with his pants still on.

He wasn't. But Blaise was there with a large amount of fire whiskey and a few packages of Marlboro Reds.

-----------

The search for Draco Malfoy continued throughout the country, and Theodore pretty much ignored it. Draco was everywhere; why he was so hard for everyone to locate, _Mordred_ knows. Sometimes he was on Theodore's couch. More often, he was in Blaise's bed. He'd gone to Italy for a few months (during which Blaise had taken up residence with Theodore). Draco wasn't exactly tactful, but he moved around a lot and maybe that made the difference. Harry Potter and his lot of aurors were never keen on things that moved too fast.

Neville never came back, and Theodore had heard from Pansy that he'd taken up with the little sister of Ronald Weasley. Theodore wished them luck. Grudges were more of a Malfoy thing.


	2. B is for Beige

1  
"Theodore Nott." 

Theodore cringed. It served him right; he knew better than to walk through Diagon Alley on a nice day. Pansy had told him to apparate. He should have listened.

Spinning around, his eyes focused on a tall, fit figure with sickeningly familiar tousled hair and a jagged, lightening-bolt-shaped scar on his forehead. 

"Potter." Niceties had to be observed, even when dealing with undesirables.

So named, Potter grinned crookedly (unattractively), and ran a hand through the back of his hair. "How... how have you been."

Theodore cocked an eyebrow, Harry Potter shrugged, and it was all that Theodore could do not to chide him that shrugging was bad manners.

"I've been well," he said finally, "and can we segue directly into you inquiring as to why I've left Neville?"

Harry nodded, and folded his arms. "I had hoped I was being inconspicuous."

"Unfortunately not."

"Well, then?"

Theodore peered at him for several more seconds, before folding his arms to match Harry's.

"It's been a while... I figured Neville would have told you the truth by now. Clearly, I've underestimated his cowardice." Harry twitched at the insult of his friend, but confusion soon overthrew any other visible emotion. It was like him to wear his feelings like he did; Theodore almost smirked.

It was, along the same lines, exactly like Neville not to fill his friends in on the happenings concerning their breakup. He'd receive the bulk of the sympathy if he kept everyone believing that Theodore had been the transgressor.

Theodore sighed. "Potter, Neville left me." 

Neville was something that Theodore didn't like to talk about. He didn't regret it; not at all. Theodore liked to pretend that he had no regrets.

"Theodore, tell me the truth." 

"I am not lying to you, Neville!" Theodore had been tired, spent. He wasn't even sure why he was still trying, but when Neville had come back to Theodore's flat the next day to retrieve the rest of his belongings, Theodore had decided that he had to give it one more shot.

And it had been amusing, really, a bloody riot, because it had taken Theodore months to be able to even let Neville leave any sort of trace that he'd been there in his wake when he'd leave in the morning for the Ministry. Now, Neville had come back with a box, and a freckled, skinny redhead in dusty muggle denim who was standing outside the door, narrowing her eyes in Theodore's direction. It had given Theodore a great amount of satisfaction to pretend he had forgotten that she couldn't get past his wards. 

Neville was frantically picking things up; his toothbrush from the loo, a worn T-shirt that Theodore had hoped he might leave behind. He had been obviously trying to avoid looking at Theodore at all costs.

"Theodore," Neville had said quietly, glancing toward the door and the impatient form of Ginny Weasley, "let's not discuss this now."

"We're going to discuss it later, are we? Meet over tea?"

"Come on, now..."

"Catch any evil wizards lately, Neville? Oh yes, loads. Still after you, though. We're hot on the trail." 

Neville had forgotten for a quick second, and glanced up at Theodore, tears blinking in the corners of his eyes.

And the problem here had been this; Theodore knew that Neville was confused. They'd had conversations about alliances, about good and evil, about Voldemort and the war before. Theodore would be the first one to admit that Neville was not an unintelligent person. He was just open, and warm, and trusting. He trusted blindly, which was why it had taken Theodore such a long time to win Neville over in the first place.

Neville trusted Harry Potter, and Dumbledore, and that whole crew, and rule number one in that club had always been that Slytherin was the enemy. It had taken Theo quite some time to show Neville that black and white rarely ever existed. But greys and beiges were more confusing, and herein lay Theodore's problems. Neville would believe the black and white. He could do that. Theodore had gone to great lengths to try to convince Neville that he was one of the good guys, and that had been the first step in their relationship. But lines blurred, and blurred lines were not something that Neville liked to deal with.

Especially when his main source of information was a biased, bespectacled nitwit, who couldn't tell a morally grey situation from a dirt spot on his glasses.

"Do you trust me?" Theodore asked, casting an annoyed glance in Ginny's direction. It was quite clear that she was there to prevent Theodore from changing Neville's mind. Neville avoided his glance, and Theodore had continued.

"You trust Potter more than you trust me?"

"I trust Harry," Neville had said, and Theodore had felt a pang of fondness as Neville's voice rose to protect his friend, "I have no reason not to." 

"Whereas I've betrayed you so many times that you feel I'm now in league with the Dark Lord?" Theodore dead-panned, throwing his hands above his head.

"Theodore, I..." Neville looked pained, set his box down. "Don't make this hard for me." His voice dropped low, he brought his head down and cast his eyes at the floor. Vulnerability came off him in waves.

Theodore sighed, gave up. It hadn't been the time.

"It takes a great deal of courage to stand up to your enemies," Theodore had said softly, pulling Neville to him and breathing in slowly. He never liked to admit to something as mundane as wanting to remember what Neville smelled like, but the soft air of salt and chocolate brought a sharp pain to Theodore's gut, "but a great deal more to stand up to your friends."

Neville had looked at him, pulled out of his reach and blinked.

"Neville," Ginny Weasley called from the doorway, "come on."

Neville had glanced at her, and then back to Theo, before picking up his box and scampering from Theodore's flat before, Theo assumed, he did something stupid like stay.

The bar was small and seedy, and Theodore had been in it many times in passing to Diagon Alley, but he'd always hurried past as if he couldn't get through fast enough. And yet here he was, pulling up a chair beside Potter and sitting down.  
Theodore raised an eyebrow, and Potter had the audacity to look confused for a moment before finally relaxing his shoulders. "Do you know where Malfoy is hiding?"

Theodore smirked and leveled his eyes, "I wondered what this was about. Shall we meet question for question, then?" Potter cringed, but nodded his head.

"I suppose that's fair." He said, in an exhalation of breath, "that's my first, then." 

Theodore sat back in his chair and regarded Harry Potter. He looked tired, defeated almost, though he'd singlehandedly destroyed the most powerful dark wizard that ever lived. His hair was still a mess, and he hadn't picked up any more manners after leaving school. 

Theodore wondered if the truth was the right thing to go with. He decided that it was. Not that it'd hurt Draco or anything. 

"He's not really hiding." Theodore said finally, and he watched hope fly through Potter's green eyes, "But I don't know where he is, exactly. He wouldn't tell me. He won't even tell Blaise." He added the last as sort of an afterthought. 

"Zabini?" Potter sat up in his chair, "What does he have to do with..."

"I do believe," Theodore interrupted, "that it's my question now." Harry looked disappointed, but he nodded and relaxed.

"Why can't I take a leisurely stroll through the park without being glared at by a dozen wizards who believe that I'm the second coming of the Dark Lord?" Theodore asked him, folding his hands in his lap. The question was loaded, of course. Why had Neville left him? Why was Harry Potter spreading rumors, and speaking of things he had no idea about?

Potter winced, just a little. "Theodore, I didn't..."

"We're not friends, Potter. I'm just trying to figure out what I did to make you an enemy."

"You've got something to hide."

"And you don't?" Theodore accused, struggling to keep his voice level.

There was a silence, the air hanging heavy with cigarette smoke and tension. "When I close my eyes, I see my friends dying. I see them suffering and falling. And you're... you're a Slytherin, and you've always been close, too close to..."

"I will not sit here and be accused of..."

"You're too on the fence, alright? You're ambiguous! In the shadows, and you associate with people who any self-respecting person would stay far away from! You're not on their side, but you're not on my side, and you were dragging Neville there with you, and he couldn't... just choose a side, Theodore, CHOOSE A SIDE!"

"Things aren't always black and white."

There was a long silence after Theodore's quiet words, one in which Theodore hopes against hope that Potter would get up and leave. No such luck.

"I think it's time for a drink." Potter decided, pushing out from his chair and heading for the bartender, who greeted him like they were old friends. It figured, really.

The bar wasn't busy, and he thanked Merlin for that. Today, the stares of the 80 percent of the patrons that he'd usually draw would likely be rounded out to an even hundred at the unlikely pairing of Theodore Nott and Harry Potter.

Returning to his chair across for Theodore, Potter set two glasses down. "It's no Chateau d'Yqume."

"D'Yquem." Theodore corrected, before wincing and fighting the urge to slap a hand to his forehead. He hated proving people right.

Harry smirked into his glass, before throwing his head back and downing a mouthful.

For the first time since he'd been accosted in the street, Theodore looked the Boy Who Lived up and down; past the hair and the glasses, past all the things that Theodore loved to snark at.

There was a time in his life that Theodore had considered himself an expert in people. Before the war, before everything got shaken up and turned around, Theodore had fancied himself able to get a good handle on a person's character by simply watching how they held a glass, how they held their heads when they talked.

Whether it had been hard for him to keep the habit up after the war or not, Harry Potter was an enigma. It annoyed Theodore to no end that Harry cocked his head in an ultimately curious fashion, while accusing with his eyes and pleading with his sad little smile at the same time. He gripped his glass too tightly, and Theodore might have named him nervous if it weren't for the sure way he planted both feet on the ground. Yes, Harry Potter was annoyingly difficult to figure.

Harry slumped in the seat across from Theodore and pushed a glass in his direction. Theodore looked down at it, and back up at Harry before he picked it up.

"Just out of curiosity," Theodore muttered, swirling the dark liquid around in his glass, "what exactly have you been up to at the ministry these days?"

Harry's eyes darkened slightly, but he kept them trained on Theodore's movements. "I don't work for the ministry."  
Raising an eye, Theodore set his glass back down. "You live there." Potter was not going to play these games with him.

"I use the facilities. I work with them."

"But not _for_ them."

"No." Harry said, firmly, waving an arm in the air, frustrated. When Theodore smiled, he wasn't quite positive he couldn't keep the anger he felt out of it.

"Ah, so it's you who poisons your unsuspecting victims with restricted substances these days, is it?"

"I don't..."

"Veritaserum, Potter." Theodore gestures at the glass Harry had given him, sneering. "I'm not an idiot."

Potter had the audacity to look somewhat apologetic, "I need to know..."

"I am not a minion of the Dark Lord. He's dead. And I'm not attempting to bring him back, and I'm not campaigning to become his next reincarnation." 

Harry narrowed his eyes, and Theodore did too.

"I am not lying to you." He said simply.

The only person who hated Theodore more than himself for hooking up with Brynn Davis was her older sister Tracey, who had been in Theodore's year at Hogwarts. 

"Don't touch my sister with those filthy, muggle-loving hands of yours, Theodore." Tracey had hissed, the first time she'd heard the news that Theodore had been spotted around town several times with Brynn.

"Don't talk to me, talk to your sister." Theodore said calmly, much to Queenie's amusement, "I can't shake her off."

He hadn't been lying. 

Now, when Brynn walked cautiously up to the table where Theodore sat opposite of Potter and sank into the chair between them, he didn't think he'd ever been more happy to see her.

"Hello, boys." Brynn said, cheerfully, flipping her hair back and setting the book she was carrying in front of her. "Harry." She nodded in his direction, and for a moment, Theodore thought he saw Potter smile.

And that was something, Potter smiling at a Slytherin, but it was to be expected, with a Davis. Now that he thought about it, Theodore could recall Brynn mentioning something about helping Potter and his crew sort out their defense library one Saturday. She was more charitable than any Slytherin ought to be, but then, she was young.

The fact that he was sleeping with a girl who wasn't out of Hogwarts yet wasn't something that Theodore wanted spread around, but that couldn't be helped. Given the fact that his previous beau had been a Gryffindor, though, most people had been regarding it as a step up.

The news of Theodore and Brynn's romantic trysts, however, obviously hadn't made it to Potter's ears yet, because when she leaned over and pressed her lips to the firm, hard line of Theo's, Potter visibly pulled back.

Theodore had always been taught not to act smug, and he had to restrain the smirk that was threatening to curl up the corners of his mouth.

"I know you want to tell me how lovely I look, Theodore, so I'll save you the trouble and just say thank you." Brynn smiled in his direction, and her eyes flashed for a moment.

One of the things that Theodore found attractive about Brynn was that they had similar ways of thinking. Brynn was usually one step ahead, and while Theodore had that sort of connection with Blaise, it had been born of years spent together, figuring each other out. With Brynn, it seemed to come naturally.

She was intelligent, in all senses of the word. She was the only girl who had broken Hermione Granger's grade record, and that had been in her fifth year.

"How's that library treating you?" Brynn asked Potter, looking sincerely interested.

Theodore watched Harry gather himself from shock, and put on his charming smile. "It's going well, we think. Hermione's been raving about it. There are a few things that still need to be in order, but I'm probably not the one to ask about that."

"She'll owl me, if she needs anything?"

"Yeah." Harry grinned, looking as though he was enjoying himself for the first time that day. Theodore felt a pang of jealousy and was instantly aggravated.

"Brynn," Theodore wasn't sure what possessed him to reach across the table when he did. Setting his hand lightly on her arm, he tried not to think about how mundane he was being.

"Theo," she countered brightly, turning back to him. "Are we still on for later?"

"Of course," Theodore muttered, slightly pleased at the shade of pink Potter turned.

"So," Harry began, in the worst impression of jovial Theodore had ever seen, "when does your school start up again?" Deep, green eyes flashed a challenge in Theodore's direction, and it took all his strength not to throw a haphazard jelly-legs hex across the table.

"Not for a few weeks yet," Brynn said, warning in her eyes as she cast a sideways look at Theodore, "I was just here doing some early shopping. _Standard Book of Spells, Grade Seven_ is usually hard to come by later in the season."

"I saw Theodore sitting here, and came to ask if he cared to join me."

"I'm afraid I can't," Theodore mused, "I'm meeting Queenie and I'm already running late. Tonight, though?"

"Tonight." Brynn agreed, standing up from her chair.

When Theodore finally arrived at Queenie's, she was running late for a meeting in Prague and didn't visit.

"It's your own fault, Theo. I hate being stood up."

Theodore kissed her on both cheeks, ushering her out the door. "I both apologize and forgive you, but once you've learned who I've spent the afternoon with, you'll probably agree I've been punished enough."

"Fabulous." Queenie quipped brightly, not asking, before spinning around on one heel and disappearing completely.

It was far too early to go meet with Brynn, and Theodore didn't want to go home, so he found himself apparating to Blaise's house.

When the townhouse spun into view, Theodore raised an eyebrow at the closed curtains. It wasn't very often that Blaise pulled his drapes closed.  
Stepping up onto the front porch, Theodore was almost repelled backwards by a hum permeating the air. The magic was old, but active, thriving and whirling about thickly, and breathing suddenly became an issue.

It's not a ward, Theodore thought, running a hand experimentally through the heavy air, sucking in slow, cautious breaths. Blaise would never ward him out, at least without letting him know first. It was something different.

Gripping the doorhandle, Theodore turned it once and pushed Blaise's front door open. The door swung wide, seemingly dragging through the thick air.

"Zabini!" Theodore called, suddenly worried. Not worried, not really, but Theodore'd never been one not to err on the side of caution. "Blaise!" A bit louder now, as he stepped into the sizzling heat of the house.

Dropping his bags on the floor, Theodore gazed about the living room where Blaise's things were strewn in every direction. Nothing new about that, Blaise had always had more important things on his mind than whether he'd picked up after himself.

Looking around as he walked forward, Theodore noticed new runes etched into the walls. Wet ink drying over the old, blacker and deeper, maybe. Obviously, Theodore noted, the cause of whatever magic was currently slowing his steps and making his nostrils burn.

Hearing muffled sounds from the bedroom, he turned toward the door, but before he could call out to Blaise, the bedroom door opened, and a lithe figure stood in the doorframe, gloriously-pale, naked skin shining with sweat and augury.

It'd been a few months since Theodore had last seen Draco Malfoy, but not very much had changed.

"Oh, it's you." Draco intoned, stretching up against the door, a slight sheen covering his body and his eyes glistening. The door beside him opened wider, and Blaise was revealed, his hair sticking up every which way, naked from the waist up. Symbols in deep mahogany were etched into his skin, so deep that Theodore could see blood in some places.

"Theo..." Blaise said, his voice slower than normal, "it's not really a good time."

"So I've noticed."

"What he means to say, Nott, is please remove yourself from the premises so that Blaise and I may get back to it." Draco pulled an unattractive smile. "Please."

Theodore looked at Blaise again. There was something unfamiliar in his friend's eyes. Something feral, dangerous. Magic, certainly. Draco's, perhaps, but maybe not; Blaise was always fooling around with magic that he had no idea about.  
Theodore had often warned Blaise about toying in things he was unsure of, but then, Blaise was always sure. Sure, until what he was doing fell through, or didn't work out, and in that case, it was water under the bridge. Theo had always figured he'd gotten that from his mother, for it was that exact philosophy that she had seemed to apply in choosing all nine of her past husbands.

But there was something here, something new, and while Theodore didn't want to ignore that, he had no choice. Sex magic, maybe, and if that was it, he really wanted nothing to do with it. Draco wasn't really an imperio-ing, control-rune sort of person; he's honed his craft using words and other such mental influences, so Theodore knew that it probably wasn't anything in that respect. But, still.

"I've got some new books," Theodore lied, and as soon as the words left his mouth, he saw Blaise's eyes narrow. Apparently, even with this new element Blaise still knew Theodore well enough to be able to pick out when he was lying. Draco, it appeared, could not, because he stepped back into the bedroom with a frustrated groan and a creak of bedsprings that said he had thrown himself down on Blaise's mattress.

"You should come 'round later. Take a look." Theodore finished, locking eyes with Blaise's.

Blaise drew in a long breath, stepped forward. "Theodore," he said quietly, resting an arm on his friend's, "I'm fine."

"Right." Theodore muttered, "Well. I'll leave, then."

"Theodore..."

"No, no, it's alright, I'll visit tomorrow."

With that, Theodore turned and walked toward the door, batting away a spoon that floated across his path.


End file.
